


If You Can't Handle the Heat

by starwarned



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Kitchen Sex, M/M, POV Simon Snow, Simon Snow Loves Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Loves Simon Snow, simon is wearing an apron, what else can i say, yes i did google quotes about kitchens to find the title of this fic, yes i do think simon would look really cute in an apron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/pseuds/starwarned
Summary: If you can't handle the heat, get out of the kitchen
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 127





	If You Can't Handle the Heat

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a whopping day and a half while bingeing the first season of umbrella academy. the quality of this fic truly reflects the circumstances under which it was written

**SIMON**

I’m doing my best to make Baz dinner. He knows I’m shit at cooking, but I’ve made a personal goal to do something big for Baz at least once a week. (Last week, I let him handcuff me to my bed and keep me on the edge of orgasm for an hour and a half. That ended up being something for him and for me, even if it felt like torture for a while there). 

So this week I’m making him dinner. I haven’t broken anything yet and I only spilled half of my carefully measured rice. 

Baz is sitting at the table, lying with his head on his textbook. He told me he’s just “resting his eyes”, but whenever I look over at him, he’s watching over me carefully. I think he’s sitting there just to make sure I don’t set anything on fire. 

I start to slice a bell pepper, but the second I get distracted by looking at Baz, I clip the rest of the rice with my wing and knock the measuring cup to the ground.

“Oh, fuck me,” I say softly, setting down my knife. 

I look up at Baz and he’s smirking.

“That wasn’t a suggestion or an invitation, Baz.” 

As Baz stands up, I bend down to scoop up the rice with my hands. He starts to walk towards me.

“I mean it,” I say, looking up at him. “Go away.” I straighten up, pushing open the cabinet under the sink to dump the rice from my hand into the bin. 

Baz continues to smirk at me until he’s crowded me up against the counter. He presses his chest right up against mine, dropping his hands to my hips. 

“Baz,” I say again. “I’m trying to make dinner.” 

“I know,” he says, slipping both of his thumbs under my apron (what, it’s cute) and the hem of my shirt to rub at my hips. “And you’re doing such a  _ smashing  _ job that I think a break is in order.” He ducks his head down to kiss my neck, just lightly and teasing. He’s barely even touching me. 

“Baz,” I whine. (I don’t know if I’m asking him to stop or keep going). 

He takes it as a vote to continue running his lips and tongue across my jaw and throat, tugging soft moans out of me. I let my hands fall onto his shoulders so I don’t swoon like an idiot. (I still sort of swoon, but he’s holding me tight enough by the hips that I’m not in immediate danger of falling). 

I make the executive decision that in order for this to happen, it has to be faster than the pace Baz has set. Penelope should be gone for the whole evening, but in case she forgot something and has to come back, I don’t want her to see Baz and I fucking in the kitchen. 

“Okay,” I say, reaching up to dig my hand into Baz’s hair. “If we’re doing this-” 

His eyes fucking light up. 

“It needs to be quick.” 

Baz doesn’t need any other reasoning apparently (he’s pretty sharp like that) and immediately kisses me harshly, reaching around to untie my apron. I buck my hips forward, both to help him have the space to undo my apron and because  _ I want it _ . 

He groans into my mouth when he finally unties the flimsy, frilly fabric from around my back. I let go of Baz’s shoulders so I can pull the apron off over my head, but he stops me with his hands gripping onto my wrists.    
  


He’s not ashamed when he says, “Keep it on.” 

I feel my face flush and I laugh a little nervously, but I push the front of the apron to the side so I can undo my jeans. Baz mirrors my movements, tugging down his jeans and pants. He’s more than half-hard and I’m catching up the longer I let my eyes linger on Baz’s thighs and cock. 

I growl and reach up to shove my hands into Baz’s hair, tugging him into my mouth. He kisses back, all teeth and flicking tongue, taking me apart with how deftly he sucks at my tongue and licks my lips. I’m barely hanging on, twirling my fingers at the roots of his hair, and biting at his lips so that when I pull away to catch my breath, I can see them flush pink. 

Baz gets his hands on my hips and pushes at the waistband of my pants, letting them fall down my legs along with my jeans so I can step one foot out of them. 

He kisses me harshly for just another moment before pushing at my hips to turn me around, bringing a gasp out of me. Baz pushes down on the space between my shoulder blades to bend me over the counter, brushing his fingers tenderly over where my wings are attached to my back. I brace my arms against the cold marble of the counter. He kicks my legs apart and  _ holy fuck _ , I love it when he does that. 

“Please tell me you have lube,” I breathe, suddenly remembering that we’re about to fuck in my kitchen and the one time that we relied only on spit, my arse was sore for a week. I’m hoping Baz just has lube in his pocket or  _ something  _ because I don’t know that I can be trusted to stay here and not get myself off if Baz leaves for even a minute. 

Baz steps barely away from me, keeping his hand pressed to my back as he opens and rummages through a drawer to the left, grabbing out a travel-sized bottle of lube (I’ll tease him about his seemingly endless supply of travel-sized lube another time - we’ve fucked in a ton unorthodox places so it always comes in handy). 

“In the  _ kitchen _ , Baz?” (Or I’ll tease him about it now, I suppose). 

I hear the bottle open and a slick sound before feeling his fingers right against me. “Hmm?” he hums, pushing a finger into me. “You have a problem with where I keep my emergency lube?” 

I shake my head, unable to form words as I grind back against Baz’s hand - where he’s already added another finger, curling them inside of me. It’s deliciously painful - the agonizing feeling of Baz’s fingers stretching me open and the thrill of being fingered while I’m bent over my kitchen counter. Soon he’s adding a third finger into me and leaning down so he can lay a soft kiss against my spine. 

“Baz,” I say, using my braced position on the counter to shamelessly fuck myself back on his fingers the best I can. “Please.”

Baz obeys (for once) and bites at my spine before removing his fingers, leaving me  _ empty  _ and  _ impatient  _ and  _ beside myself with want _ . I can hear the lube cap again and just thinking about him touching his cock is making me ache. I have more than half a mind to twist around, drop to my knees, and suck him off, but the second I make a move to straighten up and do so, Baz shoves at my back again. 

“Be patient for once, Simon,” he says. 

“You’re the one who wanted a quickie in the kitchen,” I mutter back. 

He doesn’t retort and I’m about to tease him about losing his quick wit until I feel him pressed up against me, his cock against my arse in the strongest  _ not enough  _ sensation I’ve ever felt. I whine and roll my hips back. I can feel the blush spread along my chest and collarbone. 

Baz gives no preamble before pressing his cock against me and pushing into me in one solid, swift thrust, forcing me to jut forward into the counter.    
  
“ _ Fuck _ ,” I immediately whimper under my breath, shutting my eyes and taking it. I force myself to relax into the feeling. 

Baz wraps both of his hands around my hips and starts to thrust into me, hitching his hips deeply and setting a grueling pace. I press my face into my arm and do my best to rut back into him, groaning at the feeling of my cock being pressed against the edge of the counter every time Baz pushes into me. (It feels fucking great). 

Baz’s name falls out of my mouth along with “ _ fuck _ ”, “ _ right there _ ”, and a myriad of unintelligible noises that just make him fuck me faster and harder. 

I swear I’m going to come just like this - my cock rubbing against the counter in a painful way that’s  _ just  _ pleasurable enough and Baz inside me, pressing against my prostate with every particularly strong movement. It’s quick and it’s dirty - I’m sweating and Baz’s skin hitting against mine is a particularly erotic noise filling the room.

“ _ Nngh, _ Simon,” Baz moans and leans down to kiss the back of my neck, sucking and biting along my skin. 

“ _ Baz _ ,” I respond. “Feels so good.” And it does. I’m getting closer and closer, whimpering and moaning with every slide of Baz’s cock inside me and every push against the edge of the counter. “I’m gonna-” I cut off with a whine when Baz digs his nails into my waist and fucks me faster. “Oh, I’m gonna come like this.” 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Baz groans. “Good,” he says. “Come for me like this, darling.” 

I choke on my breath when it comes out of me  _ too fast _ , gripping onto the counter the best I can and fucking myself back on Baz. Every motion gets me closer to the edge and when Baz reaches one hand up to dig into my hair, tugging at the roots, I bite down on my hand to stop the shout that bubbles to my lips. I come against the counter, clenching around Baz, my cock aching from the pressure. 

He’s not far behind, yanking at my hair and groaning, “ _ Fuck _ ,  _ so good _ ,” as he comes inside me, jutting his hips sporadically once he can’t control it anymore. He kisses the middle of my back as he pulls out of me and I wince at the sudden emptiness. 

He uses his bruising hold on my hips to tug me back against him and turn me around. I wind my arms around his neck and kiss him, letting my body relax against him, even if I’m still out of breath and my chest is heaving. 

He cuts off the kiss to grab a dishtowel from the side of the counter (a clean one, thank Merlin) to clean us both up, as well as where I streaked white across the cabinet. I whimper a bit at how sensitive I am. He drops the towel on the floor and kisses me again. 

“You know Penny could find that lube, right?” I mumble against his lips. 

He laughs breathily, pulling away from the kiss so he can drop his knees in front of me.

“Baz, I have to make dinner-” 

He cuts me off by kissing just above my right knee before grabbing onto my pants and jeans and pulling them back up my legs. Once they’re settled on my hips and he’s pulled up his own, he kisses me again. He reaches around my back and deftly ties my apron again.

“Let Penelope find the lube,” Baz says. “Maybe it will compel her to fuck Shephard.” 

I grab him by the shoulders and yank him away from me, wrinkling my nose. “Gross, Baz, that’s my best friend.” 

“We just had sex in the kitchen while you’re making dinner, love, I think we’re past gross.” 

I shrug. 

  
Dinner ends up being pretty terrible, but Baz makes his way through it without insulting me  _ once _ . He knows I’m trying. 


End file.
